


Bounce

by CarolPeletier



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolPeletier/pseuds/CarolPeletier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol and Daryl take refuge in an old furniture warehouse during a recruiting trip.  Will somebody finally make a move?  The answer is yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounce

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Bounce

Prompt by anonymous.

Sunlight filtered through the patches of grime on the wall-length windows that lined the front of the furniture store.  It was high noon, and it was plenty light enough to see around the place to check for walkers, which Daryl was busy doing at that very minute. 

Aaron was down with the flu, so when Daryl had needed a recruiting partner, Carol had been the first to volunteer, using the excuse that she just needed to get out and stretch her legs.  Her Suzy Homemaker façade was long gone, and she was willing to take every opportunity to get out and get a little quiet, maybe even a little danger.  And boy, they’d had their share of danger.

They’d just finished running from a pretty large herd of walkers, and while they had lost the last few a couple miles down the road, there was no way in hell they were going to risk running out of gas and being stuck with those bastards right on their tail.  No, it was better to wait and let the herd pass by and start fresh in the morning when the walkers were long gone.

“Hey, looks like we don’t have to fight over the bed tonight,” Carol said with a snort, eyeing the large show room as Daryl secured the back doors.  She pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side for a moment.

“What?” Daryl asked, grunting as he checked another set of doors. 

“I’m not going to complain about having a bed after sleeping on rocky grounds and prison bunks and the backseats of cars for the past couple of years.  But do you think we might be able to convince Rick to make a trip out here to bring back some of these mattresses?”

“Pfft,” Daryl snorted.  “You kiddin’?  He’s too busy tryin’ to keep the peace to worry ‘bout shit like this.”  Daryl slung his pack onto one of the beds and flopped down on another.  Carol smirked and folded her arms across her chest.  “This one’s good.  I’ll take this one.”  He looked up at her, noticing the smirk.  “What?”

“Look at you, Mr. ‘I’ll take this bed.’  Wasn’t that long ago you were sleeping on the porch, tearing a dead possum apart with your hands.  Not to mention the lack of showers.”  Daryl eyed her for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip but saying nothing.  “You cleaned up pretty good.”

“Wasn’t too long ago, you was wearin’ sweaters like my nana used to wear.  You look better like this.”  Carol looked down, considering her khaki pants, the black belt that held her knife and holstered her gun, the light blue tank top and the grey button down jacket she’d put on just in case. 

“I feel more like me,” she said with a little smile.  “Scooch.”  She nudged his leg, and he slid over so she could get in beside him.  “Oh…God.”  She moaned softly, stretching out on the mattress right beside him.  Daryl felt his mouth go dry at the sound of her moaning.  In bed.  With him.  _Fuck_.  “You’re right.  This is nice.”  She sighed softly.  “My bed’s too soft.  Never could sleep very well on a soft bed.  I like them firm.”  _Christ sakes._

“Me too,” he muttered, though all he could think about was how it might feel to get a nice hold on her firm ass cheeks. 

“Ow!”  She shifted her hips.

“What?”

“My gun,” she snickered.  She sighed, lifting her hips and quickly sliding off her belt.  She tossed it onto the closest neighboring bed.  “Much better.”  She turned her head to see Daryl staring at the ceiling and swallowing hard.  “Let me try this one.”  She hopped up suddenly, moving to the next bed.  Daryl propped himself up a little, craning his neck to see what she was doing.  She laughed then, hopping up onto the bed, standing square in the middle of it and gently bouncing, holding her hands behind her back.

“The hell are you doin’, woman?”

“I remember that I was never allowed to jump on my bed at home.  The only time my parents let me was when we were on vacation and staying in a hotel.”  She bounced a little higher then.  Daryl couldn’t help the bewildered smile that began to creep across his mouth. 

“Watch out.  Gonna hurt yourself.”

“Oh, come on now,” Carol teased, waving her hand, motioning for him to get up.  “You telling me you never jumped on your bed when you were a kid?”

“Not without riskin’ an ass beatin’,” he pointed out.  “But me and Merle found this old trampoline the neighbors threw out.  We fixed it up.  Merle mostly used it when he was jumpin’ off the garage roof.  Broke his arm more’n a coupla times.”

“Well,” Carol said slowly, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”  She motioned for him to join her.

“This is dumb.”

“So?”

“Other things we should be doin’.”

“So?”  She crinkled her nose at him, hopping to another bed.  “Are you telling me you have no time in your life for a little fun?”  His gaze settled on the way her tits bounced as she bounced.  _Can think of lots of other things more fun than this that involve a bed._

She jumped back over to the next bed and then back onto the bed that Daryl was on.  She stood stock still beside him, grinning down at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.  Without even thinking, he reached out, grabbing her leg and yanking it out from under her.  She yelped, falling back against the mattress.  The bed gave a shudder and a squeal as it shunted about a foot across the floor.

“Hey!  What was that for?” choked out, unable to stifle the laugh that bubbled out of her chest.  She nudged his hip with her foot.  “Jerk.”  Daryl snorted then, turning his face to look at her, and she smiled, eyes studying the deep blue of his own.  She sighed softly then, biting her lip as the smile faded from his face, and he moved his hand up her arm and over her shoulder. 

Her breath caught for a moment, when she saw his gaze move to her lips.  She couldn’t say she hadn’t thought about it.  She had.  Many times.  But it was never right.  There in the woods that day as he held her so close, but everybody had been watching.  That night in the women’s shelter, but they were on a mission.  That moment when they were alone, and she’d wanted to kiss his lips but settled for his forehead, because he was grieving, and things were bad, and there was no time for it.   But now?  Now, there wasn’t a single, solitary reason why they shouldn’t, and as the realization hit her, she began to tremble, and her nerves began to hum.

She waited for a moment, wondering if he was really going to kiss her, wondering if she might make the first move herself.  She knew Daryl often shied away from any form of intimacy, so it shocked the hell out of her when he began to lean in, lips parted slightly.  She closed her eyes then, wanting to truly feel this moment, wanting to relish it and commit it to memory, because on the off chance that this was the most vivid dream she’d ever had, she wanted to relish it anyway. 

His lips were on hers then, and she caught a moan between her lips, bringing her hand to rest against his chest, as his hand moved up her neck and into her hair, curling there and bringing her closer.  She sighed contentedly then, scooting a little closer to him, hooking her ankle over his, smiling into the kiss, as his hand moved down her arm and over the curve of her hip. 

She moved her hand then, pinching a patch of skin on her hip, where her shirt was bunched up.  Daryl noticed and broke the kiss, looking down at her hand.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Just checking,” she whispered with a grin.  _Nope.  Not a dream.  Not a dream at all, and God, how is he such a good kisser?  Why haven’t I been kissing him all along?_ She closed her mouth over his again, moaning softly when his hand moved down her back, fingers gently curling into the edge of her shirt and pulling upward.  Her skin felt like gooseflesh, and she was trembling, and he realized that she was just as anxious as he was, and it relaxed him a little to know that. 

He pressed soft kisses to her lips before dipping down her jaw and her neck, groaning softly as the taste and scent of her began to stir something deep in his belly.  They’d been on the road for a day and a half, and somehow, she still managed to smell like her lavender soap.  _Fuck, she smells amazing._ Rather than take time to ponder when she’d had the time to clean up, he just went with it, and he slid his hand further up her back, getting a little giggle out of her as his fingers tickled over her spine. 

He rolled then, pulling her on top of him, and she gasped a little at the adjustment, looking down at him, her face reddening, as his hands gripped her hips.  She could feel that he was getting hard, and she instinctively ground her hips down against his, getting a groan from his lips. 

“Is this what you want?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as her fingers began to work at his sleeveless shirt.  His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as her fingers popped the buttons.  “Daryl?”

“For a long time,” he admitted, fingers moving up her hips, sliding her shirt up a few inches to expose the creamy flesh of her sides and stomach.  She smiled a little then, wasting no time in gripping her shirt and pulling it over her head, tossing it somewhere over her shoulder.  He pulled her down to him then, mouth suckling at the soft flesh of her throat, kissing a path down between her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin along the tops of her breasts. 

“Daryl…” she panted, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there as he worked his tongue along the top curve of her breast.  His fingers pulled the fabric down then, exposing her hardened bud to him.  She cried out when he sucked the pert little nub between his lips, running his tongue over it, sending a wave of pleasure straight to her core.  

Her head fell to his shoulder then, and she breathed deeply, relishing the feel as he moved to treat her other breast to the same sweet torture.

Her hands moved to unclasp the bra, sliding it off and giving him better access before she began to slide his vest off his arms.  He pulled back a little, letting her work. 

“Can I?” she asked, as she began to work the rest of the buttons on his shirt, knowing how aware and self-conscious he was of his scars.  But she’d seen his scars.  There wasn’t much about him she didn’t know, and the parts he hid were parts she wanted to know, parts she craved to help understand him better.  He was her best friend, and she probably knew him better than any of the other survivors knew him, but there was still so much he held back. 

As she kissed his chest, running her fingers through the patches of hair and the line that led down his stomach and to the top of his pants, she felt like they had all of the time in the world.  There was no rush.  There was no danger.  There was no herd of walkers passing by the storefront at that moment.  There was just this, and it felt good.

They moved together, working to shed ever stitch of clothing, making no rush of it, placing lazy, soft kisses, skin against skin, simply reveling in the feel of touching another person in this way, of making something else matter besides fear.  _This_ was surviving.

When they joined, there was no fanfare.  There was no thundering of fireworks.  Only a soft gasp and a whimper as she screwed her eyes shut, and he peppered kisses over her jaw, urging her to open her eyes and look at him, because he wanted to see it in her eyes.  He needed to see that she felt it, too, that spark, that culmination of everything they’d been through together leading up to this moment of breathlessness and pure, undiluted need for human comfort.

They took their time.  There was no rush.  And when it was over, they folded into one another, a tangle of arms and legs, holding each other, still kissing, still caressing, still intoxicated by one another, by this new aspect of their relationship.

Finally, after the high wore off, a grin spread over Carol’s face, and she began to giggle.

“What?” he asked.

“I just had a thought,” she offered with a shrug.  Daryl blinked a few times, amazed the woman could even think after what they’d just done. 

“What?” he panted.

“I don’t think this is the right bed.”  She gave him a mischievous grin.  “Nope.  I think we should try out a few more.”  Daryl snorted at that, rubbing his eyes before quickly pulling himself over her, pressing his lips against her neck.  “Maybe a harder one this time.”

“Harder?” he asked, poking his head up and looking around the room before glancing back down at her with a look that said ‘oh, you asked for it.’  “Lemme see what I can do about that.”


End file.
